But Larkin was at his heels, and in a moment had seized the other’s bridle and thrown the horse back on his haunches.
“No!” bawled he at the top of his voice. “The bank here is twenty feet high, and at the bottom are rocks.”
“Better a jump and a chance than sure death in the stampede,” yelled the stranger, but Bud would not yield and drew the horse back.
“We can divide the herd,” he cried. “Come, we haven’t a moment to lose!”
They wheeled as one and dashed out of the brush into the open of the range. The earth was now trembling beneath them and the pounding feet sounded a low, steady note, ominous with warning. Occasionally there was a revolver shot, but this was the only other sound.
Straight toward the oncoming living avalanche the two men rode until they had left an open space a hundred yards wide behind them. Then they pulled up short and dismounted. 108
Now out of the threatening thunder sounded a single individual note, the rapid beating of a horse’s feet—some horse that was bearing a desperate rider ahead of the stampede but powerless to avoid it.
Instantly Larkin saw the picture of the yawning precipice toward which the frantic rider was hurrying at breakneck speed. He raised his revolver and fired into the air. The signal was instantly acted on, for in another moment a lathering, heaving pony dashed up to them, and the rider leaped to the ground.
“Oh, what shall I do? Hello! Who are you?” cried a female voice, and Larkin’s heart leaped as though it had turned over in its place.
“Juliet!” he cried, seizing the girl with one arm and drawing her close.